Mimi Jean Pamfiloff is swinging by the blog today to help celebrate the release of her fifth – and final – Accidentally Yours title, Accidentally … Over?OMG I can’t believe this is the final title in the fun and fantabulous paranormal series that has more hot gods and vampires than any girl could dream of. If you haven’t read it yet, this is the perfect time as you’ll be able to read all the titles – without having to wait for publication dates. Happy dance!!! If, like me, you’ve been reading these from the beginning, today’s a bit bittersweet. But I think, perhaps, we haven’t seen the last of the gods and goddesses – just sayin’.
So without further ado, let’s give a warm Fab Fantasy Fiction welcome to Mimi Jean Pamfiloff!
EVW – I can’t believe it’s over. Is there any chance, like say New Coke, that there would ever be the chance for Accidentally Yours the second generation?
MJP – Absolutely not. (Wink.)
EVW – Out of all the books and characters, which ones are your personal faves?
MJP – Cimil is probably my favorite because she cracks me up. I NEVER really know what she will do or say until my fingers start typing. She has almost no manners and embraces her insanity. You just can’t find a better character than her.
EVW – What’s next for Mimi Jean?
MJP – Lots of fun stuff! The 3rd book of my King Trilogy is coming out in a few months. (A story of a young woman who gets caught up with a mysterious, evil, sexy billionaire who she swears is the devil.)
I’m also going to write the sequel to my FATE BOOK novel. (A young woman’s FAKE boyfriend comes to life!)
And then I’ll be kicking off another new series, THE IMMORTAL MATCHMAKERS, INC. Think of the show Millionaire Matchmaker but for immortals. It’s going to be hysterical. (I hope!)
EVW – For any of your fans going through withdrawal at the thought of this series ending, what would you suggest the read? This could be something of yours, another author… You know, so they don’t go all Cimil on you for taking away their fix.
MJP – LOL. Well, of course, they can grab my KING TRILOGY, HAPPY PANTS CAFÉ, or FATE BOOK (plug, plug) if they haven’t already. But as for other authors….well, I’m rereading the Outlander Series! I just love it! Now that the series has been made into an awesome show, I thought it would be fun to refresh my memory. And if folks haven’t read it, they should. Time travel, sexy men in kilts…say no more.
ACCIDENTALLY…OVER? by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff
(August 26, 2014; Forever Mass Market; $8.00)
When it comes to Máax, the God of Truth who refuses to follow the rules, there’s more to him than meets the eye. Literally. Because Maáx is invisible! Which is probably why, after seventy-thousand years, he’s still unable to find a mate.
Ashli Rosewood was never meant to die. In fact, her death might be the very reason the gods are now faced with stopping that pesky doomsday right around the corner. If only there was a way to undo the past. Cue Máax. Seven feet of divine masculinity and the unruly god charged with saving Ashli. With a little help from an ancient Mayan tablet, Máax will travel back in time and set things right.
Easy, right? Wrong. Because Máax has one teensy challenge. He’s invisible. And every time this impatient, powerful deity gets anywhere near Ashli, he spooks her right into harm’s way. Meaning…she dies, and he has to start all over again.
Cliff, banana peel, runaway storage container filled with Belgian chocolates, bee sting, the list goes on and on. Does the Universe have it out for this girl? Sure seems that way. But why? And what will Máax do when he begins to suspect that not only is Ashli the key to stopping the apocalypse, but she may be “the one” he’s been waiting seventy-thousand years for. How will he save the one woman the Universe insists on killing and who wants nothing to do with him?
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EXCERPT ONE FROM ACCIDENTALLY … OVER?
Death is trying to seduce me.
I always suspected he would come for me after I survived the accident, and now there’s no doubt. And death isn’t some ominous creature that carries a bloody scythe, his face obscured by a black cloak, his spindly fingers protruding from the cuff of his dripping sleeve as he enters your dinner party, points to your plates, and declares in a gravelly voice, “You’re all dead. It was the canned salmon.” Oh no. This is no snarky Brit skit, and he’s no monster.
Death is a sex god.
He’s tall, built from indestructible solid bricks of muscle. His cheek bones are chiseled works of art, and his full, sensual lips are meant for doing anything but killing. Like I said, sex god.
How do I know this? He’s been watching me, whispering in my ear while I sleep, quietly hiding in the shadows while I eat, while I work, while I shower.
So for once, I’m turning the tables.
I follow the sound of his footsteps through my beach cottage, out my back porch, and then pick up his large footprints in the sand. I crouch behind the tall, dry grass blanketing the massive sand dune. The crashing waves mask the sound of my thumping heart and heavy, frantic breaths. I’m sweating like mad as the tropical morning sun beats down on my back, and I spot my stalker splashing in the waves.
He stands, and I can barely breathe when I look at him.
Though he’s nearly transparent, the outline of his naked body glistens with drops of ocean water reflected by the sun. I’ve never seen a more beautiful man. Shoulders that span the width of two normal-sized men, powerful arms and legs that make me wonder if he’s not actually carved from rock or molded from steel, and incredibly sculpted…jeez, everything. There’s not an inch on this beast—not a neck, an ab, not a pec or a thigh—that isn’t constructed from potent, lethal looking muscle. Well, except his hair. Though I can’t see the color, it’s beautifully thick and falls to his shoulders. I imagine it’s a warm shade of brown, streaked with reds and gold. Because he’s utterly beautiful, and that’s the kind of hair a beautiful man would have. Yes, he’s a god, not the bringer of death. And I can’t help but wonder why he’s made that way. Is it so that when he comes for me, there’ll be some sort of consolation—getting to see his face? I don’t know, but I’m not ready to see it, yet. I want to live. I want to grow old. I want to fall in love. Just once before my time is up.
Yet, somehow, I want him, too. Why? That’s gotta mean I’m loca, right?
My eyes study every poetic detail of this “man,” hoping to find answers. But there’s nothing. Nothing that will help save me from him.
Suddenly, I see his chin lift and his head turn in my direction.
Can he see me? Oh my god. He’s coming right for me.
I bolt from my hiding place and make a run for it. I know if I make it to my house I’ll manage to lock the doors, but that won’t stop him. There is nowhere to hide from death, but I run, anyway.
I make it to my back porch and reach for the door, but I slip on something. Shit. Really? A banana peel?
My body crashes to the hard cement. My head cracks on the sharp edge of the porch’s step, and I can’t move. All I feel is my beating heart and heaving lungs, burning with fear.
“Dammit, woman. Why the hell do you always run from me?” His deep, melodic voice washes over me, and I love how it soothes my soul.
I look up and try to focus my eyes, but he’s difficult to make out. His dripping hair catches only a few rays of morning sunlight.
“You’re so beautiful,” I croak. “But I changed my mind; I don’t want to die. Please don’t take me away.”
I feel his warm hand brush against my cheek. “I am trying to save you, Ashli. Why won’t you let me?”
Why does he say that? Why is he lying to me? It doesn’t matter now, because I’m already dying. The darkness begins to swallow me.
“Shit!” I roll from my bed and fall to the floor with a thump.
Sonofabitch! Why do I keep having these dreams?
ENTER THE GIVEAWAY
EXCERPT TWO FROM ACCIDENTALLY … OVER?
Máax stared down at the hysterical, screaming woman. He was about to offer a few calming words, such as “Shut the hell up,” but then something peculiar happened.
What the fuu . . . ? He stumbled to the side but caught himself. He’d never experienced anything so unusual, so potent. But what was it? It didn’t hurt. No, quite the opposite. It felt like a sack of fucking wonderful dropped on his head.
Máax looked at the woman once more, and it hit him again.
Click.
He gasped. She was doing this to him? How? There was no logical explanation, other than . . .
He lost his train of thought. Gods, she is magnificent.
Holy Christ! He stepped back and stared at Ashli. Is that . . . Am I . . . ? He was drooling! Like a hungry dog!
The odd, euphoric sensation hit him again, nearly tumbling him over. Nothing in his seventy thousand years of existence could help him articulate the sensation. It was as if the damned woman had jumped inside his body, soldered herself to every molecule of his light, and then sucked away any rational thought. The hollow pit in his chest, one he hadn’t known existed, felt instantly placated. That spot now felt warm and mushy. The center of gravity shifted from beneath his feet toward the direction of the woman and began pulling him to her like a shooting star.
Oh, shit. She’s my mate? He took two more steps back. No. No. Hell no! But how? And why now? He’d never asked the Universe for a mate. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want to be tethered to some . . . some weak mortal woman, or any woman for that matter. Where was the godsdamned logic in that? For fuck sake, he was a lone wolf—answered to no one and nothing. And he was invisible,
went where he liked when he liked. (For the time being, anyway.) After he went on trial for his recent multitude of offenses, he’d be entombed for a very, very, very . . . yes, very fucking long time! And now this, this . . . woman had messed it all up! Filii canis! Now he was truly going to suffer. He’d have something to miss!
Then another truth dawned on him. Cimil set me up! Again! He was going to kill her. And, gods fucking dammit, did the woman—this, this, Ashli—have to be so godsdamned hot?
Infernum. Her beauty was beyond that of any deity. Dark golden-brown skin, hair like black-licorice ribbons wild about her face and trailing down her back, and exotic eyes, turning up in the corners like a feline’s. And her lips . . . Her lips were plump and full, just the sort a man longs to feel sliding over every inch of his—
Get a hold of yourself, man! But holy saints she was hot. What was he going to do?
Why don’t you start by saving her, asshole?
Right. First things first, though; he had to get her to stop screaming. “Ashli, I command you to stop screaming.”
Her beautiful hazel eyes widened, and she bolted toward the dusty, narrow road that ran along the beachfront.
Sanguine ad infernum! She’s running away? “Ashli, I command you to stop. I won’t hurt—”
A large silver bus came out of nowhere. “No!”
ABOUT MIMI JEAN PAMFILOFF
Before taking up a permanent residence in the San Francisco Bay Area, Mimi spent time living near NYC (became a shopaholic), in Mexico City (developed a taste for very spicy food), and Arizona (now hates jumping chollas, but pines for sherbet sunsets). Her love of pre-Hispanic culture, big cities, and romance inspires her to write when she’s not busy with kids, hubby, work, and life…or getting sucked into a juicy novel.
She hopes that someday leather pants for men will make a big comeback and that her writing might make you laugh when you need it most.
Keep in touch with Mimi Jean
Website ⎜ Facebook ⎜ Twitter ⎜ Goodreads
EXCERPT THREE FROM ACCIDENTALLY … OVER?
Bloody deity infernum! Máax’s head throbbed with a pain so severe it reminded him of the time he’d accidentally been stepped on by Cimil’s unicorn. Giant fucking thing thought it was some sort of lapdog but weighed the same as an elephant.
So what had that bloody woman hit him with? A garbage truck? No way was that a simple shovel.
In any case, it knocked a few of his marbles loose because he didn’t recall freeing himself or making his way inside her house. But he had. In fact, he’d made it to her bed, and now Ashli lay beside him, sound asleep. How long had he been out, and how the hell had she fallen asleep without noticing a very large man in her bed?
Because you’re invisible and were lucky enough to pass out on the side of the bed she doesn’t use.
Carefully, he edged off the bed, trying not to disturb her. Ashli rolled over and flung her arm over his chest. Deorum inferorum. Máax sucked in a deep breath.
“You smell so good,” she mumbled.
She talks in her sleep? For some reason he found that adorable.
“What cologne is that?” she added.
His natural scent. All gods produced a pleasing aromatic cocktail of pheromones. He supposed it was nature’s subtle way of disarming humans, making it less likely for them to freak out and realize they were in the presence of something not quite human.
Ironically, he felt like the one being lulled by Ashli’s scent. He’d never smelled a more enticing fragrance: tropical flowers mixed with a slight hint of those roasted chili peppers from her kitchen and fresh ocean air. Gods, the scent was just as exotic as the woman. Add to that, Ashli seemed to enjoy the ocean, his passion, as much as he did. If he could live his entire existence on the beach, he would. The air, the tropical breeze, the soft sand . . . there was nothing better than swimming in the waves or surfing when the opportunity arose, though it had been a very long time. Isn’t such a smart idea to surf when you’re invisible. A lone surfboard, carving a wave on its own, looks a bit strange. Nor was it smart to lay next to Ashli, enjoy the warmth of her touch while sniffing her hair, or allow himself to grow extremely aroused. Which he had.
Idiot. What was the point? So he could remind himself what he was missing out on? Once this was all over, which it would be because he never failed, they’d both move on. Him to some cold, dark tomb probably buried somewhere in a remote swamp where no one would find him for a million years. And Ashli—she would find some nice human to spend her mortal days with.
Or perhaps one of your brothers. After all, Cimil prophesied that twenty years from now, Ashli would broker peace between his brethren. That meant she’d meet them all. And Ashli was a catch, not to mention the one person on the planet destined to save them all. How? He had no clue. Yes, clearly the woman had her attributes—sexy as hell attributes—but aside from that, she seemed quite normal. Nevertheless, being savior of the planet would grant her instant celebrity status and boatloads of attention. She’d have men lining up around the block.
He balled his fists, then let go. All for the best. Because he didn’t want her. Much. And he certainly didn’t need the distractions; this was one mission he couldn’t afford to fail.
He sighed and Ashli flinched. Máax lifted his head, ready to make a mad dash from the room if she woke up, but found himself entranced. Her plump lips and golden skin; her dark lashes, fanning along the crease of her catlike eyes; her hair a wild mass of thick black curls. He had no idea of her heritage, but never had there been a more seductive female in existence.
His eyes swept down the length of her small athletic frame covered only in a flimsy white sundress. Next to his large body, Ashli appeared more petite than she really was.
An urge to dominate her, to take her right there, sparked.
Or perhaps you’d enjoy the opposite. Yes, he’d enjoy the feel of her lithe, lean figure straddling him, riding his cock.
Hell, man. That’s enough, you horny bastard.
“Fuck this,” he hissed and slipped quickly from the bed before he did something he regretted. Like kiss her.
Or motorboat her.
You randy bastard.
He needed to go for a swim. Yes, the ocean water would cool him down. The ocean always made him feel better, like being home.
